luck for the night - rl.

23. a nihilist, a gambler and a stalker walk into a bar.

The lavatories were about as fancy as the event hall itself: a long hallway with little tables and vases full of fresh cut flowers, art decorating the walls, and two doors: one on the left wall, one on the right. More and more nerves danced through my body as I approached them, my belly practically exploding with tension.

Now, the question was, would Remington be at the men's or the ladies' bathroom? I looked for a clue as to which was which, but the text on the doors was covered with a little plaque that simply said human. Welp, I guess it was just a lucky guess, then.

I grabbed my phone, about to text Remington left or right? when the choice was made for me. Remington's older brother, which I now knew was named Sebastian, opened the door to my left. The fear of being recognised by him as the underwear girl made me dash into the door on my right.

A good choice.

There he was, in front of the mirror, hands in his hair, trying to shape it into something that looked good to him. If I had learned one thing in the short time I had known him, it was that he always wanted his hair to look perfect. To me, it always looked good.

I felt that strange desire again, wanting to rake my fingers through the black strands.

I sucked in a deep breath. Without so many people around us, I got knocked off my feet by him all over again. The way his dark eyes looked into the mirror, full of focus. The make-up surrounding them, red and black today. The way his jacket fell, open tattoo's peeking out from under the black fabric. The way I knew he would look at me, as soon as he saw me. I knew his lips would curl into a smile, his eyes would soften. The way friends look at each other.

I walked towards a sink, meeting his eyes in the mirror as I turned on the faucet and reached for the soap.

He pulled the corners of his mouth back slightly, a tiny smile appearing. Oh no, this was an I don't know you but we accidentally made eye contact-smile. I lowered my gaze to my hands, spreading the soap evenly, and doubt took over my mind. Was he actually not happy with me being here? Was that why he had asked me to come here, to tell me off, to send me away?

I wouldn't blame him for that, though. This all might have been a bit too much of a creepy stalker move.

But instead of turning to me, demanding an explanation, he turned away from me and disappeared into a bathroom stall. It stayed awfully silent for a second as I waited to hear the lock turn. But it didn't. He wanted me to follow him, didn't he?

Cold water ran over my hands, my wrists. I needed a second to gather my thoughts on this. There were only two possible outcomes. He either wanted to talk to me, wanted me to explain, or... My imagination took over my brain. His hands on my legs, reaching under my dress, his chest close to mine...

No, that wouldn't be it, right? I took a deep breath, preparing for the worst but hoping for the best, and followed him into the stall.

Immediately, I was engulfed by him all over again. He was leaning against the side wall of the stall, which was surprisingly spacious, and fully closed off from the rest of the space. It took me all my power to turn around and lock the door, instead of getting as close to him as humanly possible right away.

I turned back to him, suddenly very aware of the dress I was wearing, and his bare chest.

I could not help but smile, seeing him like this, being so close to him, but his expression did not change, a frown taking over his face.

Fuck. He was angry at me for coming.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, trying to find the words that explained everything.